


Creep

by BellaFuckingRockwell



Series: 10 Songfics Challenge - House [3]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Humiliation, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Songfic, consensual kink shaming, i'm so sorry cuddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 15:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaFuckingRockwell/pseuds/BellaFuckingRockwell
Summary: 18+ ONLY. DO NOT READ OR OTHERWISE INTERACT WITH MY CONTENT IF YOURE UNDER 18.Doing the 10 Fics/10 Songs challenge again, this time in the Houseverse. Playlist goes on shuffle and for the first ten songs that come up I write a short fic inspired by it.Fic 3: Radiohead - CreepSummary: House shares a fantasy with Wilson.





	Creep

When House told Cuddy about the nature of his relationship with Wilson, he was mostly just looking for a reaction. He had a few things in mind; shock, or amusement, maybe curiosity. The last thing he expected was for her to ask if she could watch.

He didn't really expect Wilson to be so enthusiastic about the idea either.

All House can do is whimper and stare up at her, as she kneels before him on her desk. His wrists are bound to his thighs, Wilson's tie fastened into his mouth. He's spread and bent over, bare chest against scattered files, Wilson's slick cock teasing his entrance. He arches and whines because he can't help himself, he just wants to be _full_, but Wilson rarely cares for mercy and today is no exception. The slap to his rear stings, the hiss of _“quiet”_ drowning out his gasp.

Cuddy clicks her tongue, ruffling his hair in a manner that's almost soothing, and he can't help but nuzzle into her touch. She's still fully clothed, her skirt riding up around her thighs where she kneels, the blush in her chest hinting at her arousal. “Ssh,” she murmurs. “Wilson says you're such a good boy usually. I want to see you prove him right.”

Wilson rakes his nails down his back, and he grunts. His cock is pulsating against his stomach, iron hard, and he tries to stave off the ache, the burn, knowing that as things stand he could easily cum the moment he's touched. And the last thing he wants to do is give them ammunition for any more torture.

Then Wilson's voice pierces the haze, harsh, incredulous. _“Cuddy?!”_

**

“Um.... yeah.”

“You're kidding,” Wilson says. _“Cuddy.”_

“Yes! Shut up.”

Wilson has an arm slung around his waist where they lie on his bed, holding him to his chest with his groin pressed against his hip, and if House is not mistaken he can feel something suspiciously like an erection forming there. “Cuddy,” he repeats.

“Careful,” he says. “I heard that if you say her name three times after midnight she appears from the shadows and slits your throat. Oh, wait, you just did. Say your prayers.”

Wilson is grinning. “That's just an urban legend,” he says. “Anyway, do continue. What happens next?”

House hesitates. Wilson loves to hear his fantasies, and he doesn't hold anything back from him, even the really twisted, violent ones that make him question whether he needs those antidepressants after all. Usually, the shame of it has him whimpering with curdled delight, but he's never seen Wilson react with quite so much glee before. He tries to scowl, but he can't help squirming a little. No one but Wilson can make him squirm, and he resents that fact as much as he revels in it.

“House.” Wilson's voice has that warning tone, and as his teeth drag across House's earlobe he shudders. “Are you defying me? I said, what happens next?”

He's pawing at House's zipper, and House just watches as he fumbles his hardening cock out of his jeans. He licks his lips as he murmurs, “are you gonna...”

“Yes.”

“While I tell you...”

“Yes.” 

There's a kiss against his forehead, Wilson's lips brushing at the forming beads of sweat, and his breath hitches as Wilson's hand engulfs his length. His irises have darkened, a wicked smirk on his lips, and House feels delirious with vulnerability.

“Tell me,” Wilson presses. “So you're naked, gagged, tied to the desk. I'm teasing you, and Cuddy's watching. Then what?”

House draws an uneven breath. “Well... you start fucking me. Y-you're rough. You're biting me...” He gasps as Wilson's pace increases. “Pulling my hair... and Cuddy's laughing... you're both calling me names...”

Wilson's tongue darts across his lips. He slides an arm around House's neck, pulling him closer. “What are we calling you?”

House tries to fight the words out of his mouth. He wants to close his eyes, block out any awareness of the fact that Wilson can see his cheeks burning with shame, the hungry, vicious look in his eyes that tells him he's loving every second of it. His voice trembles, husky, as he continues, “you call me a fucking slut, and Cuddy agrees with you... says she'll never look at me the same again, now she's seen...” he whimpers, “what a wh-whore I am...”

“Mm, _yes._ You are a whore.” Wilson's voice is thick with arousal and feigned disgust, and House rocks his hips into his hand, panting, wanton. At the same time, he can feel Wilson beginning to grind against him, giving a soft moan at the friction through their clothes. “So _shameless._”

“Cuddy slaps me,” House gasps, spurred on by his words. “Right in the face, and she does it again, and it hurts, and I like it, and I'm so hard, God, and you're going harder, and harder... and you're hurting me, and you don't care...”

“You're disgusting,” Wilson breathes, inching his face closer on the pillow until his forehead presses against House's. He whimpers at the contact, fingers grabbing clumsily at his shirt, needing the closeness, needing more and more of him. “I can't believe you're getting off on this... tell me more...”

“You tell Cuddy-” House is quivering, arching, feeling Wilson's pace on his cock increasing, feeling Wilson's own hardness rubbing up against his hip again and again and it's maddening, and it's so wrong, and it's incredible. “Fuck... you tell Cuddy to take off her panties, that I'm going to eat her out, and she does...” 

“You creep,” he's spitting, “you utter creep...”

“You take the tie out of my mouth and then my tongue is on her clit, and she tastes so good, and she's... fuck... she's...“

Wilson cuts him off with a vicious kiss, and he paws at his shoulders and whines against his mouth. Wilson is sloppy and desperate, distracted by his own arousal, and when he pulls away he's panting and hazy eyed and his rhythm on House's cock is erratic. 

“She's squeezing your head between her thighs and you can hardly breathe,” Wilson continues, and House's eyes flutter closed. “She's moaning and telling me how good you are, how well behaved, and we're using you...” His breath catches. “Using you, and I can see how hard you are, how desperate you are to cum, but Cuddy doesn't want to let you... and I think that sounds like a great idea...” His teeth graze House's chin, and he whines, needy, aching. “Because you don't deserve it. No matter what you do, you'll never deserve it. So we finish up, and then we leave you there... leave the door unlocked... _anyone_ could come in and find you...”

“Fuck,Wilson,” House pants, “Can I... please, please...”

“Wait for me,” Wilson growls, and House recognises the waver in his voice, a signal that he's close. His mouth is twisted in ecstasy, his eyes rolling. “Wait... fuck... _ now_...”

House spills all over Wilson's hand, teeth clamped into his bottom lip as he goes rigid with the heat of orgasm. Wilson slams against him twice and then stills, raining curses and moans into his ear, and House is giddy, grabbing onto him as the ecstasy peaks and then fades. 

When their eyes meet again, Wilson smiles, this time with affection. House is breathing hard, allowing himself to collapse into Wilson as he pulls him close and smothers kisses along his face, his neck, his exposed clavicle. He murmurs reassurances, loving declarations, and House buries his head in his chest, clinging to him, dazed and completely unguarded. Only Wilson can make him feel so secure, evoke the kind of trust and vulnerability he could never give to anybody else.

As they come down, Wilson starts to laugh. “You like the thought of Cuddy topping you,” he says. “Interesting.”

He pulls out of their embrace, and House swats at his shoulder. “You think I'd be topping her?”

Wilson considers this for a moment, climbing off of the bed. As he starts to remove his soiled pants, he says, “yeah, you're right. I can't picture you topping anyone.”

“But maybe _I_ can picture me topping someone.”

Wilson raises an eyebrow. “Can you?”

“That's not the point.”

Undressed, Wilson perches beside him on the bed, and House presses a kiss to the back of his hand as their fingers lace together. “Would you be surprised if I said I had a Cuddy fantasy?” he asks.

House feigns a groan. “No. But I'd be surprised if it wasn't even nastier than mine.”

“It's so much worse.” Wilson is grinning wickedly. “Wanna hear it?”

“Obviously. I'm a creep, remember?”

He scoffs. “I could out-creep you. Easily.” 

As Wilson moves to lie on the bed, House shifts, making room. He smiles, closing his eyes to summon his imagination. “Go on, then. Let the games begin.”


End file.
